That’s all I needed to hear, and I love how we clearly have the same priority in mind. My hands start working at his belt but I glance up at him briefly. “I have something important to talk to you about too, but it can wait until after we have sex.”
His mouth is on mine again, and he’s pulling at my clothes.
“Door,” I manage to gasp and he kicks his foot back, slamming it shut and sparing the neighbors.
We’ve gone from fully naked, fully writhing, and fully moaning to semi-dressed and eating lasagna on my couch. The candles never got lit and the salad was ignored. The wine, although a nice touch, was also ignored in favor of two bottles of ice-cold water to quench the thirst we had worked up.
Sighing in contentment because my lust for Wyatt has been satisfied—for now—and my belly is almost filled, I look at him sitting on one end of the couch. He’s only wearing his jeans, halfway zipped up, with his legs stretched out and bare feet resting on my coffee table. I chose to sit at the other end, wearing only my t-shirt and underwear, sitting cross-legged and facing him.
“This is really good, baby,” he says before stuffing another bite of cheesy mess in his face.
“It did turn out good, didn’t it?” I respond, staring overly long at the start of his happy trail peeking out of his unzipped jeans.
“Keep your eyes on your food,” he teases, and I glance up to see him smirking at me.
I smile, duck my face, and take another bite of lasagna. I’m so freaking happy he’s here, but I’m a little nervous about how he’ll react to my idea. Even though we’ve both been very clear in our feelings so far, which I think are parallel to each other, there is still some doubt in my mind that Wyatt wants the same things I do for the long haul. It’s not a subject we’ve discussed because the physical distance between us presents quite the wall of opposition.
“When do you think you’ll hear from the BRIU about the position?” Wyatt asks.
Distractedly, I look over at him. “What? Oh… they made me an offer a few days ago.”
Wyatt’s body stills, the fork in his hand stopping in mid-scoop. He blinks once at me, and then removes his feet from my coffee table. Leaning forward, he sets his plate down, then leans over and takes mine from my hand, also setting it on the coffee table.
“They offered you a position?” he asks quietly.
“Uh-huh,” I say with a sheepish smile on my face.
Wyatt lunges at me, wraps his arms around my waist, and hauls me off the couch. Spinning me around, he yells, “That’s fucking amazing, Andrea. Fuck… I’m so happy for you.”
My hands come up to grip his shoulders and after two complete circles that make me kind of dizzy, I try to take a moment to appreciate his joy for me. Giving him a sweet smile, I lean in and kiss him. “Thanks. It was a bit of a surprise.”
Sitting down on the couch, Wyatt tucks me onto his lap and looks at me with excited eyes. “So… when do you start? Shit… there’s so much to do. Get your house on the market, get you packed up, and find a new house. Or maybe it’s an apartment you’ll need in Quantico? Regardless, I’ll take some time off work and help get you moved. And what the fuck… how come you didn’t tell me? Were you trying to surprise me?”
I stare at Wyatt, completely amazed over his utter abandon. The simple, yet deep happiness he has for me… that I’ve accomplished a major goal in my life. I’m not sure anyone in my life has ever felt this type of happiness or pride for me before, and it’s humbling.
Before I can even answer those questions, he keeps right on going. “Okay, so this is the perfect time I guess to tell you what I’ve been thinking about. I hadn’t really factored the Quantico job into my thoughts, but that actually works out better.”
“Better?” I ask with confusion.
Wyatt takes a deep breath, leans in, and kisses me. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”
“Yeah,” I say hesitantly. Even more confused.
“I mean… you really know that about me? That I’m crazy about you and that I miss you terribly when we’re apart?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically. Because I do know that.
Wyatt takes my hands in his. “What you probably don’t know, though, is that I love you. Have for a while.”
“You love me?”
“I do,” he says simply. “And I can’t stand this long-distance shit. It’s eating at me, and I fucking hate it.”
I’m still reeling from the fact he told me he loved me, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor has he given me an opportunity to respond. He just keeps on talking.